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Crystal Kismet
Crystal Kismet is the 5th quest zone. "Fate has taken you deep beneath the surface of West Kruna." Encounters The numbers correspond to the map below: The God of the Goblins *2. The God of the Goblins 1 *3. The God of the Goblins 2 *4. The God of the Goblins 3 *5. The God of the Goblins 4 *6. The God of the Goblins 5 Story of the Sword *8. Story of the Sword 1 *9. Story of the Sword 2 *10. Story of the Sword 3 Erakka-Sak *11. Engine of Desctruction The Will of the Sapphire King *12. The Will of the Sapphire King 1 *13. The Will of the Sapphire King 2 *14. The Will of the Sapphire King 3 *15. The Will of the Sapphire King 4 Nature of the Orocs *17. Nature of the Orocs 1 *18. Nature of the Orocs 2 *19. Nature of the Orocs 3 Other encounters *1. Wielder of the Dream *7. Rakshara's Honour *16. Puff the Magic Crystal *20. The Sapphire King Walkthrough Normal Encounters Boss Encounters Optional Boss Encounters Final Boss Clear node 1, then fight through nodes 12 and 13 to face Xarax the Impaler at node 14 and obtain Chunk of Orok Chrystal. Walk past node 15 (you can cut past without fighting) and the Sapphire King (node 20) and then fight through nodes 7 and 6 to face Lurking Horror at node 5 and obtain Lurking Horror Essence. Now you may proceed back to node 20, where you must defeat the Sapphire King. Notable Loot Crafting *'Common Craft:' Lance (Flower of Chivalry) *'Boss Craft:' Death Warrant (Manslayer's Hand) Boss Card Rewards *Burst of Light (Xarax the Impaler) *Holy Illumination (Lurking Horror) *Incendiary Flask (Sapphire King) *Rakshara's Retaliation (Sapphire King) *Magic Lamp (Erakka-Sak, 100% Drop Chance) *Sarax the Unstoppable (Erakka-Sak, NM Only) Transcript to be updated A gust of wind blows across the landscape, probing the rocky outcrops as though surprised to find her force thwarted and dispersed by such ancient barriers. For this is Caelnarn, and over many dozens of miles she has been allowed to dance and whirl, rush and buffet, with majestic impunity. She's drifted across the vast plains, rustling the grasses and shrubs, lending her breath to the wings of eagle and falcon - allowing them to echo her magnificence in the elegance of their flight. She has tickled the fluttering manes of the steppe people's horses, and stroked their arrows with her playful caress. Yet now this elemental spirit finds her path impeded by the bones of her earthen cousing. Crags and stony hillocks rise up from the grassy mantle like unsightly bumps marring the neatness of a laid-out garment, forcing her gusts to work their way between them and over them - leaving little patches of space unblessed by her touch. The wind sweeps over this upstart terrain for several more moments before withdrawing. Perhaps displeasure has brought an end to the journey which would have taken her into the forests of northern Rhynhart, and she will instead return to her sisters with tales of their cousin's insolence in so challenging their imperium. But her departure seems welcome to those below at least, to the men and women who march in single file up the steep gradient amidst the protruding mounds of earth and rock. Under her scrutiny they had pulled their purple cloaks close around their mail-clad bodies, shielding themselves from the regal vexation of her tongue with the fick furs. The dark magenta dye which suffuses those garments with its elegant richness marks them out as official military issue - tokens of King Crenus' generosity or else a quartermaster's concession to the rugged environment into which duty has propelled this band of soldiers. The haughty whirling away of the wind sends one final gust over them, the swaying skirts of her ethereal garb leaving a grand swish of female aggravation in their wake. After that the soldiers relinquish the furry cocoons, and the cloaks open to reveal the tabards below - each marked with a golden dragon's head. Their mouths open at the same time, words finding space in the air now that the aggrieved element's voice no longer fills it. "I hate this place..." one of the women says. "We all hate it," a male soldier grunts. "It's a damned wasteland." "I volunteered for Caelnarn because I know how to ride. Thought I'd be put in one of the cavalry patrols." "Ha! Every bloody recruit who's been in the saddle thinks they can get one of those jobs, and just ride all day." "Should have tried seducing the commander," another man suggests. "I heard some girl from Stromhamre got out of sculery duty that way." "That was me." A raven-haired soldier sighs. "He told me that if I had that much energy I could spend it on patrol duty instead." "Oh..." The warrior at the front of the procession, a captain from the markings on his helmet, stops in his tracks - nearly causing the man behind him on the slope to plant his head in his superior's hindquarters. He turns around, and glares at the column below. "Stop that chatter! When you're wearing the king's colors, I expect you to uphold military discipline! Gods, what if civilians heard you lot whining and moaning like a load of schoolchildren?" "We're in the middle of nowhere, captain," the raven-haired woman says. "Yeah," the would-be cavalrywoman agrees. "Who's going to hear us?" "That's not the point! When you're in uniform you should imagine that the king himself is watching you all the times - and conduct yourselves accordingly!" "What, all the time?" "Yes, damn it!" "Even when I'm using the latrine?" "What?" "Yeah!" one of the men chimes in. "That would just be... awkward. I don't reckon I could go if I thought the king was watching me. I mean, who would take a piss in front of the king?" "At least you could turn your back and maintain a scrap of dignity," the raven-haired Stromhamren replies. "What about us? Besides, any man who spied on me when I was using the latrine would get my gauntlet in his face - king or not!" "I think that counts as treason..." "I don't care!" "Shut up! Shut up, all of you!" the captain yells. "I swear, one more word out of your mouths and I'll have every single one of you flogged when we get back to the camp!" He whirls around, a dramatic gesture somewhat ruined when his boot slips against the slope - and only a timely propping up from his nearest subordinate's arms stops him from toppling backwards. Then he continues marching up the incline. The other soldiers follow, their voices dropping into inaudible mutterings and whispers. But their progress reaches a second terminus when they near the top of the hill. The captain looks skyward as a tendril of smoke snakes its way into the heavens. His upturned nose twitches, tantalized by an incredulos scent - a smell which should by all rights have no place in this lonely stretch of rugged borderland. The soldiers behind him do likewise as the odor reaches each of them in turn. A collection of raised nasal organs wriggle and sniff at the air in comical harmony, until each proboscos os forced to accept the reality of the seemingly impossible sensory input. As though not to be outdone their ears next challenge their brains as those aural appendages capture the sound which now drifts upwards and outwards along with the smoke and smell. It's a voice lifted in song - albeit off-key and more enthusiastic than melodious - bearing the unmistakable accent of distant Titar. The song itself is as Titaran as its singer, a famous chant heard whenever feasting and fun are had by that land's denizens. "Who ate all the pies? Who ate all the pies? You fat bastard! You fat bastard! You ate all the pies!" The soldiers look to one another, amid much shrugging of shoulders and expressions of befuddlement. Their thoughts are writ upon their faces and mannerisms as plain as the text of a tome. Perhaps the scent alone could have been the work of mere fancy, desire leading to delusion. But it's hard to imagine anyone's fantasies involving that particular musical accompaniment - much less that the same hallucination would have veiled the senses of the entire band. Thus they're forced to accept the evidence of their noses and ears, as outlandish as that might be. It's the captain who moves first, running up the remainder of the slope and emerging onto the little plateu at the top - a space loosely encirled by spires of rock like the prongs of a crown. The others aren't far behind. They come up moments later to feast their eyes on the same unbelievable sight. "Morning, lads and lasses. Sodding grim up north, isn't it?" The question goes unanswered, met only by blank stares. This doesn't seem to perturb the speaker, however - a fellow of middle age and extensive girth, with a red and cheery face. He hums the same tune which he sung a moment before, whilst tending to his work. Numerous military eyes watch the scene in astonishment. The fat man sits atop a chunk of weather-worn rock, alongside a tall, broad barrier of similar material which forms a natural wall and shelter. Before him is a campfire, its jovial flames no doubt shielded by that ancient aegis from the recent pilfering fingers of the wind. The hinged legs of a simple metal frame surround it, supporting a thin, flat tray above the flickering tongues of fire. As the soldiers look on, the man removes an oblong object from a voluminous knapsack and places it alongside others of its kind on that warm tray - the source of the enticing smell. "First lot should be nice and warm enough." He glances up at the gold and purple crowd. "And there's plenty more where these came from." The captain finds his voice first. "You there! What do you think you're doing?" "What the bloody hell does it look like? Digging a ditch?" "He's warming up pies, captain," the would-be cavalrywoman 'offers. "I can see that!" The captain glares at her, causing the woman to avert her gaze and murmur something presumably unflattering under her breath. His eyes return to the rotund pie man. "Why are you here?" he demands. "Came to sell my wares, didn't I? Best steak and kidney pies in all West Kruna, if I do say so myself. Why, a bloke once told me that my pastry was-" There are no travelling pie men in Caelnarn! The very idea is-" "Exactly!" The pie man taps the side of his nose. "No point in setting up in a big city where there's a twerp with a tray hanging from his neck on every blooming corner, even if your pies are better. The buggers will all be full up by the time they get to you. So I came up north, where there ain't a good pie to be had for love nor money. I bet even the Great Khan himself couldn't have laid his hands on one. It's the law of surprise and demand." "Supply and demand," corrects a smooth, eloquent voice - which happens to emerge from the pie man's mouth. The soldiers stare at him. '"Sorry about that," the man says, once more speaking in his rough Titaran accent. "Had myself a spot of education as a boy. Nasty stuff learning - never quite leaves you. A bit like a bad case of kidney stones. Pops back up just when yoo don't bloody want it to. Anyway, down to business. You look like a hungry lot. Been marching since first light?" "I wish," one of the men replies. "The commander had us leave when it was still dark. What's the good of patrolling in the dark anyway? Not like we could have seen anyone. Could barely see a few feet in front of our faces." "Silence!" the captain roars. "And I know your rations aren't up to much," the pire man says, apparently unmoved by the officer's glare. "I've tasted some of that salted meat they give you. Whatever animal it was, I think it was luckier than the blokes what have to eat it." The raven-haired woman sniggers, though she manages to muffle the noise before the captain turns round and sweeps his subordinates with the same glare. Finding no military victim to fasten upon, that glare falls back on the strange civilian and his tray of comestibles. "So, how about we get to business? Just a gold piece each." "A gold piece?" the captain repeats, speaking the words as if that particular coin of the realm were some strange and hitherto unimagined artifact. "For a pie?" "Surprise and demand." "Supply and-" the educated voice begins. "Where else are you going to find a pie around here, I'd 'like to know?" the Titaran voice interjects, muffling its more sophisticated counterpart. "Besides, what are you going to do with your stipends up here? Nothing else to sodding buy, is there? You'll probably just lose it all playing dice at camp." "He's got a point, captain," the Stromhamren says. "And they smell delicious. I'll take one!" Category:Crystal Kismet Category:Missions